Epimetheus the After-Thinker
by L'ecureuil
Summary: Strange people think Rachel is possessed. They're right. Rachel is just not possessed by what they think. Set after The House of Hades and before the Sebastian plot. Behold a little interruption: Someone needs to clean up after the Doors of Death and Oracle wants a monster killing dream team. Things just ... well, not everyone gets along.
1. Prologue

_**((I don't own any of the havoc that's about to take place, nor do I have ownership on the characters here who have to live it. This is canon-divergent, but only slightly. Everything is basically owned by those high above me. Rick Riordan, Cassandra Clare, to some extent Homer, Madeline Miller and so on.))**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

For the following weeks Rachel could be found with an easel, stationed across the Institute's street with buckets of paint. Never once did she ring the entrance bell. The sidewalk was beginning to acquire the same paint splotches as her jeans.

Jace watched her wearily from the greenhouse seven stories up. "She's covered in marker splotches," he said coolly.

"Watch out," Isabelle said singsong, speaking into his ear, "Clary might become jealous with all the attention you're giving her."

"I'll ignore that," Jace said with a dip of his voice, "You _should_ be concerned, though. Her presence doesn't allow Clary easy access to our front doors. She's been avoiding them for weeks. As much as this art project is cute, I wonder what this girl could possibly see in our institutional dump."

"Maybe she likes painting garbage," Isabelle offered but she knew where this was going.

"Or, she's not a mundane." Jace said, unhitching himself from the window sill. "I want to know exactly what she sees in us."


	2. The Greenhouse that Wasn't

**The Greenhouse That Wasn't**

It was the night the Oracle betrayed her.

Then again, the Oracle usually took the path which would _most_ likely get it throttled for answers, so it was nothing new.

Rachel's favourite painting spot wasn't strictly supposed to exist. But on nights like this one, Rachel felt she deserved something extraordinary, a little mental ice cream to deviate the mind and feed her creativity. Lately, her life had been glued to negotiating the fate of Camp Half-Blood and avoiding a Greco-Roman war between teens and pre-teens. It wasn't a cute summer game, either. The weapons were killer and the bloodlust would lead to real deaths if she let it get too far. It was a difficult place to be for someone as scatterbrained as her. Two years ago, Rachel had refused a goldfish because she was convinced it wouldn't make it; now she was negotiating a tribe war against the bar _baros_.

Knowing _so_ much was on her plate it sucked that to top it all off Daddy darling didn't approve of her side attachment to paintbrushes and aquarelle. After seven, around the time she'd make it back home, he'd shut off the lights in the loft so she couldn't paint or read, making her jumbled mind an impossible life partner. So here she was, going lengths to sneak out to paint between Camp and Home.

Turning down the block to a side street, in a life of celibacy, Rachel met her only true love. She stretched a grin, standing in the exact spot where she could see the entire sight. It was a quaint place on the sidewalk facing a building that in no way existed and in no way any mundane should see. However, Rachel's eyes weren't mist bound. In fact, they were stronger than the average half-blood's, and they traced with awe and contentment through the mist to the Gothic steeples. The beauty of the steeples negated the grimy dump of a surrounding. As she looked to the rooftops, Rachel's spirit soared in synch to this architectural vision. She knew Annabeth would climb the mountain of Atlas and lift the sky again just to get a floor plan of this cathedral. It was a sketch in the making, a choir of planes and gargoyles, which rose over New York like a forest born of Earth in stone rather than heavy rods of timber. With the wisdom it exuded, the journey of gazing at its peaks filled her with painful wanting, like when she saw something steampunk at a market that she wished she could grab without paying. Rachel wanted this Cathedral. It was crazy, and possibly the sign of a psychotic break but she wanted a piece of it, a stone, maybe a shrink ray so she could get the Cathedral all to herself and keep it in a box (or a shrink, so she'd stop thinking like this, returning to the spot she'd become disposed to see).

The Oracle could go take someone else, Percy could live forever alone, this building was going to steal both of his girlfriends. She knew it.

"Sweet mother of pro-active skin care," whispered Rachel, her breath coming out cold and green, "Where have you been all my life?"

As her pilgrimage to this constant beauty, she sat cross-legged on the dusty New York sidewalk, pulling out her sketchbook, her inking crayons and her tablet and setting them in her lap. After quickly sketching the outlines in a frenzy of awe and scribbles, she realized that she didn't even know the place's age, name or use. How come, it wasn't a recommended tourist destination in New York? She often wondered, tapping a pencil to her lip. From the looks of it, there was even a working greenhouse. Not to mention, it seemed to be as old as America itself ( _them chil'en dôn make buildin's like dis no more_ , she thought).

Scrolling through information on her tablet, Rachel Google searched for something to do with the Gothic marvel. Night was a sheen in the horizon, and she needed to get back to the bus station, but not without the name of her new husband. _I wonder if I'd have to convert to Catholicism to marry a Cathedral_ , Rachel pondered.

Internet archives showed that this abandoned 'dump' of a church didn't even have a name. Nobody could record who created it and nobody cared. Old pictures showed a destroyed outer shell but otherwise, nada. It was almost as if only she could see it for it it was. Only too late did Rachel realize that that could only mean—

A voice behind her said, "Look Izzy, she's made herself a habitat," A motion to the paint splatters she'd left on the cement from previous visits, "I've seen this kind of thing happen on the nature channel," A teenager was peering coyly at Rachel.

Rachel peeked over her shoulder, regretting it instantly.

The snide comment came from someone who looked like the slayer of blond jokes everywhere, and he was standing right behind her. A two foot knife spun in his hand, a lovely red lipped side-kick grinned at his left, her own whip afoot. Heavily armed and considerably brutal in their weapons. For all her courage, Rachel may have had let slip a mousy squeak. This was not happening. This was _so_ not happening.

Getting to her feet and backing up, Rachel could hear the light, mental 'Beep, beep, beep' of a vehicle in reverse. Her body shuddered violently, like her stress levels spiked only to stab her heart into an injured run. Never had she felt so cold and in danger than she did now now; not even in the Labyrinth. To put things into perspective, Rachel had done murals in drug addict allies; New York crime wasn't foreign to her. She'd seen more danger from monsters who breathed fire, but it was the pure _human_ cruelty here that froze her.

"I'm sorry, we're cancelling our subscription. There's only so much habitat we can watch you make," the side kick said, her teeth flashing sharply in the feeble light Rachel's cathedral shone. Her voice was lilted with female seduction.

Just then, Rachel realized there was never anyone on this street. That if she screamed, nobody would come. Good time to have your cellphone _all the way over there on the pavement_. "Are you mercenaries against artists?" Rachel said at break neck speed, a fever coming to her face. She continued to back away, hand slipping into her jean pocket to pull out her 'blue plastic one'. "I wouldn't cancel that subscription just yet." She should have started running. Why hadn't she started to run?

The blond boy's lids were like a lizards, lazy, arrogant, and controlled. "Against artists? No. There's much more to you than your petty creativity. My bet is that you bleed black," he said, holding the knife in front of him with a twisted wrist. "Isabelle, pin her. Let's make this quick."

A crack and Rachel was plummeting towards the pavement. Luckily, her training at camp prevented a concussion but when she looked up, her limbs were tied together in a stinging wire which had painfully beat itself around her entire body. What a sick embrace. Rachel spat on the pavement. That seemed to be what action heroines did. She glared up, mentally thankful that her pink sweater had saved her from scraped elbows and, gods forbid, whip burn. Who even had to dress for that?

The two predators certainly did. By the gods, they looked like they'd bought their getup from the Leather Emporium Closing Sale.

 _Calm down,_ _Rachel_ , she breathed quietly, _you can only ask the real questions when you don't feel like you're in danger._

At any moment of the day, her body was known to exude green mist from her pores and mouth. The Oracle got especially bad under the pretense of danger. It seemed to think that speaking with three deep voices would save her from harm. Under danger, it became her default, going to such lengths as weaseling out against her will. Green mist began billowing, her eyes become shot with a single colour, her body patiently entranced.

Despite the block of haze in her mind, Rachel still felt the blond in leather kneeling beside her, a grin on his breath. The knife he'd been wielding found itself at Rachel's throat. He spoke down, almost excitedly. "You're under arrest for possession of a mundane red headed girl. By the law of the Angels, either you surrender here or we will have to cut you out." To then be followed by his female companion who said.

"Jace, if it's a Greater Demon, you shouldn't be goading it." The whip, if possible, tightened even more. "My electrum isn't doing anything."

Despite their outer mugger clothes, Rachel saw then a strange need for these people, because even if the Doors of Death had sealed, the sheer backwash of the already escaped would come looking for her friends and any European demi-god within seventy miles. Vivid pictures began forming in Rachel's mind. Damnation wreaking havoc as it broke mighty Hell out of the Doors of Death. These leather wearing tattoo parlour misfits slicing through the Greek Monsters there like arms swinging in circles at the Sound of Music, bringing the newly alive back to death again. A black haired one standing along a beach in cordial meeting with Leo and Piper. A friendship with a redheaded artist like her whose talents were from another world.

She just hoped this was the spirits of the Oracle giving her these visions and not her subconscious brain inventing personalities like it did to strangers in dreams. "I didn't hit my head _that_ hard," Rachel said to herself, the mist gone when she cleared her fear. In her line of sight was a close up of the blond mugger. She pinned him with her eyes.

Rachel said, "Why haven't you taken my stuff yet?" She motioned with her nose to her I-pad, sketchbooks and saddlebag all lying untouched on the pavement, those were costly stuffs, Rachel thought fiercely, they _better_ not take them. Though, it was her last straw for thinking of them petty criminals. Something about the way she was tied up made her guess they really weren't muggers.

So called 'Jace' ignored Rachel, turning to his companion. "She seems conscious again like she's back in control of her own body," That seemed to surprise him. "Unless it's still faking it."

Whip wielder looked over to the Rachel cocoon, her jaw set, black eyes gleaming. "I don't trust her, but she hasn't tried to fight us yet." An admirable point, Rachel thought sarcastically.

" _I'm_ right _here_ ," Rachel said, "Pray and tell," she rolled her eyes, "How I'm supposed to fight you with a knife at my throat and whip around my arms and legs?" _If you're looking for a fight, you don't go after teenage girls with copic marker arsenals. It's the other way around. If they're looking for a fight, they go after you!_

Jace ignored her again, "Maybe she can't. How strong did Magnus make your whip?"

"It should have cut her by now," Izzy said. "Unless she has another kind of protection that isn't demonic."

Rachel wriggled before finally giving up and casting her eyes to her upside-down Cathedral friend and future husband. "I'M BEING MUGGED!" She went off like a siren, "THEY HAVE KNIVES AND WHIPMmmmmph!" Rachel bit the hand that tried to silence her. " _Di immortales_ , you're breaking the sacred laws," The super sacred sacred laws of sacredness, "Your faces will be on artist blogs everywhere as attackers of the trade-"

"Oh, for the love of, _what are you_?" Jace asked, yanking her up by her whip bindings and leading her to the Cathedral entrance like a barbarian's new bride. She knew she had to kill him, disarm him or something, she just didn't know how. Girl's self defense class didn't extend to whip bindings and how to break them. "I've never heard Greater Demons so annoying," he went on, "If you were truly the Nature Channel, the least you could do would be to shut yourself off. You'll wake the whole street this way. Oh, wait," he said sarcastically, "There is nobody on this street. For you to stop talking is only a recommendation."

"You're the one leading me to your secret layer, you gorgon," Rachel said, half exasperated from having this _always_ happen to her even as the Oracle, and the other half in electric, excited hysterics in hope that the Cathedral looked as good as it did on the inside as it did on the outside. Jace pulled her through the entrance.

"You've passed the impossible test," Jace said, setting Rachel down. Even the biggest meathead would have been able to tell by her expression that she didn't like being bound and brought into strange churches. "A Downworlder couldn't have gone through these doors, demons are completely unable. I have to say, I'm stumped. I suppose the next step is checking your blood," he said, a knife suddenly twirling in his palm.

The knife flipping, it was distracting.

When Rachel realized what he'd just said after sorting through the senseless blabber about Downtowners or something and impossible tests with dumb words she didn't understand, she realized he was about to draw blood. Her blood. By the gods. She couldn't understand, why she hadn't she screamed yet? The Oracle was making her slow on the get-go, and Rachel had no idea why it wanted her to get killed.

"Jace, stop!" Isabelle said, ramming into Jace's side with her elbow to get to Rachel, "I can't feel my necklace pulse. Maybe she was smoking something, there has to be other reasons that she's exhaling green light. Let her go, Jace. Weird energies or not, she's completely mundane."

Rachel had been called many things in her life but mundane, meaning insignificant and tiresome in one word. That was a huge shot to hipster subculture. Her artist ego was positively indignant. It would have been, if the visions of these freaks fighting on her side didn't show up on continuous replay.

Jace turned to Isabelle, he said coldly. "Iz, we thought of Madame Dorothea wasn't a Greater Demon either and you saw what it did to Alec."

Isabelle looked crestfallen and furious, clenching her fists at the thought.

Rachel took that time to clear her throat, wriggling in the whip binds. "Hey, weirdos? Guys," she rasped, "I know this is going to sound totally bizarre but," Rachel said at top speed, "Would you like to know who I am? You know, since the spirit that's possessing me can see the future, and it's telling me to hire you."

* * *

They all sat themselves ways from each other, Rachel on the abandoned steps leading to the non-existent tabernacle, tied up with a different rope now. Jace and Isabelle surveyed her from the church booths. Both were giving her stink eye, and the atmosphere was far from pleasant since no one had dusted in the last eighty years. What a disappointing interior. However, as someone who studied, drew and admired architecture, Rachel could tell that this wasn't the whole castle even with all its immensity.

Rachel's head was held high on her shoulders, her back strait, her appearance regal. She had no fear ever since her epiphany. She knew the future, it was only a matter of convincing them. "What are your opinions of the Olympian gods?" She asked, her voice echoing authority and patience. It would strengthen her to know if they were on Gaia's side, the Greeks, the Romans or the monsters.

"Mythology's not my cup of tea," Jace said at once, his broad shoulders bulbous with the way he crossed his arms, biceps bulging, "Especially fictional stories praising the power of eternal torture machines and serial rapists." Well, Rachel thought, that was blunt. Unfortunately very true, but blunt.

Isabelle cast him a dirty look, which wasn't difficult to do since it had already been present on her face moments ago when staring at Rachel. A look for which Jace brushed off as easily as dust.

"Iz, if you'd read Ovid's Metamorphoses like you were supposed to, you'd have murdered the entire male population of the gods with a lighter," said Jace, then he stopped and smiled a congratulations, "It suddenly makes sense why you never brought it back to Hodge."

"It wasn't a lighter, it was a blender," Isabelle said, she crossed her arms and legs at the same time, "The book was stupid anyway, there's too many names and I don't care who slept with who if it never happened."

Rachel meanwhile was processing what they'd said. In her vision, people dressed as them, tattooed like them were slaughtering monsters at The Doors of Death, yet, these two treated Greek mythology like bad reading. They'd mistaken her for a monster, but earlier had said that they thought she bled black. Not such, the blood of monsters if there ever was any was golden ichor. Jace's words came back to her: 'By the Law of the Angels', plus she was in an abandoned church. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they weren't of the Ancient Greek mind. Maybe they were a little more recent. Whatever. Whether they considered themselves Greek, Roman or not, Rachel couldn't deny she was persuaded to get those biceps on her side. These were some dangerous mortals, they were like their own slasher movie, brimming with monster killing potential.

"Do you work for the world government?" Rachel asked, interrupting their squabble.

Jace smiled candidly, "If I'm not mistaken, you're supposed to be the one answering _our_ questions." But the disgust behind his eyes said he wasn't.

"You haven't asked any." Rachel said, leaning her chest forward (it was the only thing she could do in these ropes), "Gang, Mafia, religious extremists, drug lords? You have to use those weapons for something. I can't believe I'm your statistical norm of a victim," Well, she hoped not, anyway.

"If you don't give us your name, we'll have to call you solely 'Ginger'," Jace said, amused as Rachel's face morphed to spit poison.

"My name is _Rachel_ ," she said snootily, "And you are _Jace_ and _Isabelle_. Don't you change the subject!"

"Good to know you caught on," said Jace, doing exactly the opposite, "Now, to the important bit. Most people of stable mind would not stay with their attempted murders in a cryptic building with no lights, willingly," Rachel was about to cut him off, but he raised his index finger, "Let me finish - Then start a benignant conversation about fictional gods. I have assumed that you are not of stable mind, Ginger Miss Rachel. It makes me wonder why you're wasting our time." He smirked suavely, "Are you really _so_ lonely?"

"I'm here because I need your help to kill monsters," Rachel said.

"You mean the one within you?" Isabelle piped up pseudo-innocently.

Rachel's fingers longed to curl around her eye crushing blue brush, "No. The thing within me is harmless. Sure, it takes my mouth, brain and body for a joyride once in a while but usually it's just there to predict the future."

"Please, don't tell me you're part of a cult that believes in the Greek gods," Jace said suddenly as it occurred to him. "Cults like those are so tiresome."

"Does a summer camp full of weapon teens count as a cult?"

"Did you hear that, Isabelle?" Jace said, "She said weapon. I'm suddenly _inclined_ to be interested."

"You're the ones who went on about the law of the angels and demonic energies!" Rachel said, "The fact that you stumbled over the Oracle of Delphi and tried to kill her, isn't that just as easy to believe?"

" _You think_ you're the Oracle of Delphi," Jace said.

"I know I am!" Rachel said. "I am possessed by the spirit of Phoebus Apollo! The Doors of Death just let a ton of monsters out into the world and I happen to meet you with visions of your people slaying them? No, that's not a coincidence. That's prophecy."

"I really wish the mortal sword worked on mortals," Isabelle said.

Jace was inclined to agree, "The mortal sword has many uses. One of them sounds better than the practical."

Isabelle elbowed him, snickering while Rachel cast down her head and moaned in frustration. The frustration soon gave into mist and before their eyes, Rachel's smoky green aura crept around the fill the empty church with images like candlelight. Alec on the beach accepting a letter, shadowhunters from Europe, Africa and the Middle East all working as one great entity. A beautiful almond eyed girl in Greek robes watching the sky open and at last calm. Rachel muttered words like _tu oinou_ and _aypeepaympsoo_.

"This is all very creepy," Jace said, "But you've managed to suspend my disbelief … for the moment," he said, "What do you expect us to do for you?"

Rachel's brain hurt, "Two advils would be nice right about now." When the shadowhunters looked like they were actually going to get up, Rachel quickly said, "What would you do?"

"Contact the Institute nearest to these infamous doors, probably," Jace said.

"I have people in Europe," Rachel said, "They could stop by that Institute if you gave me the coordinates."

"Alec was in the vision. He was receiving a letter," Isabelle said, "You saw that, right?"

"If you mean the boy on the beach," Rachel said, "It was my friends giving him the letter."

"Then it's simple," Isabelle said impatiently. "All they need is a place to meet up. The beach that we saw, for example, and then Alec brings the letter to the nearest Institute and voila. There's not much to it," Isabelle said, "He's already on a romantic vacation in Italy right now, and it would only take him like twenty minutes, two minutes if Magnus makes a portal."

"So it's settled then," Jace said, "We deliver your message to the Institute nearest to the disaster zone. They look it over, they make a decision based on the evidence rather than flying mist pictures, patrol the area and perhaps call in reinforcement. It can't get much simpler."


	3. A Brief Rundown

Later, Rachel and a sleep deprived Jace sat in a study in the Institute that smelled of honey wax. When her hands were untied and she was poised at a paper, Rachel asked him a question that had been bothering her since her first pen stroke. "What would happen if the rest of my people could to see your world as clearly as me?"

Jace smiled, bitter batter, "They'd die, probably."

Rachel's eyes flashed. "How? Why?"

"This carrier has a higher suicide rates than that of psychiatrists. Being locked in a castle with no escape from your parents is _so very_ healthy." Lazily running his finger along the edge of the couch, he said, "They expect sainthood and the clean cleaving of our enemies. Our enemies aren't just demons, Rachel, they're everyone outside of the castle. Even mundanes are troubles to us for the chances of them seeing too much could cause them to go insane. Shadowhunters can hardly run away their carriers, with the risk of getting gang mugged by werewolves, our primitive instincts would awaken in our hunger and we would use our considerable physical force to land ourselves on Death Row - we don't attend school, we don't have a payroll. Unlike your funny Greek monsters, ours consist of horrors walking. Not to mention the corruption ... we might as well compare it to a rotting house floor. While most of those don't concern you, the ability to see demons is no treat. We are a corrupt police force with a vendetta. Tell me that that still sounds appealing."

Rachel now realized she was right. She'd known they were extremists, she'd even tried to call them on it. The fact that Jace knew he was part of an extremist cult, and accepted it sent a wave of cold through Rachel. These were the ultimate trained killers, she'd seen that in her visions. But, what after? If these killers could be manipulated by Gaia, Rachel realized with a rush through her mind, that she could very well be hiring the perfect army against demi-gods.

"Tell me about my contact," Rachel pleaded, "Is he like you? As arrogant as you?"

Jace smirked, "I think Alec and I bond over mutual self-hatred."

"You hate - what?" Rachel said, only half listening as she wrote and thought. "Each other?"

"No we hate ourselves. It's quite different," Jace said, "Alec's arrogantly abiding to the law," he motioned to the invisible devil on his shoulder, "While I'm a conformist's worst nightmare."

"The perfect match," Rachel muttered, although his idea of being a non-conformist didn't strike her as being true, especially since he was still here, unwilling to change the rules that separate a Shadowhunter from a normal mortal. "I guess I'll keep my camp from knowing about you, then."

"I would seal the letter if I were you," Jace said.


	4. And so it Begins

**6:23 am, back near the ocean, Italy.**

The distant beach, too early in its solar yoke to chirp a hundred children's elated voices, lay empty. Salt sands, scarred only by land rovers stretched between the mass of greenery and teal water by a mile.

A figure, all black clad, distant, held in his hand the tie he would be recognized by for the heroes' meeting. Their contact was said to have a black tie and be roughly Percy's age while the rest of his features were to be 'a mismatch of black and blue'. Whether he was bruised or not, the tie he gripped like Hercules a snake assured them that he was their connection.

The strangest feeling of loneliness washed over the shoot. It was as if the boy wanted nothing more but to be outshone, or humanity had burdened him with that cruel law. Like the ghost haunting a Scottish Loch, he stood in the center of the beach but he was difficult to spot, his whole posture trailed off, passing slowly but leaving no footprints in the sands.

 _Other than him being the only one on the beach and he has the tie, and he doesn't make footprints, you sure that's our man?_ Leo thought. Much to the other's dread, Leo felt the need to insert some level of covert operation to this whole ordeal. He'd been adamant about keeping low profiles and using code names in case they were being lured into a trap. Worst case scenario, the lonely boy on the beach was actually a Greek nasty. If he ended up growing three pairs of legs and had the beak of a dinosaur, chances were, he'd know the heroes by birth name but the possibilities were near endless.

Apparently, this guy was from a whole new covert sector. Of what, Leo didn't know. Leo felt queasy that no one back on the ship (namely Annabeth, Hazel or Jason) knew from what myth these people were coming from. Rachel had said that there was nothing Ancient Greek or Roman about these guys in her letter that inexplicably arrived in a burst of flame. Leo decided it was best to use that innocence in case of complications. "The letter Rachel sent with this closed letter is pretty _sha_ dy," Leo said, "Give me ten minutes, and I'll make you a communicator and laser level: Cold War."

Piper, who was the only other person in their squadron to accompany Leo did her best to calm him. "I don't think that's necessary," she said, laying a soft hand on his shoulder, "It's only one letter we're delivering."

Leo's queasy feeling had begun the minute they'd stepped near the coffee shop on the beach. He'd half expected Gaia herself to pop up and attack them with the cappuccino hose. In that situation, Leo would be powerless since that would douse his heroic flame attack. Without flames, Leo's combat skills weren't exactly Bruce Lee's.

Piper seemed to feel it too, but instead of worrying, she grasped Leo's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It made Leo feel a little better as they neared their contact.

The guy's demeanor was wary and gentle when he became crystal through the fog. He stopped his pacing, allowing Piper and Leo to reach him while keeping some distance.

"I didn't expect to be meeting people so young," he said upon their arrival. Despite his own visible young age, he sounded quite a number himself; he was quite taller too. However, the younger part of him was dangerous, Leo could tell, or at least he _speculated_. There were the bullies who hurt people because it was funny and it felt powerful and then there were people who were monsters when you smacked them in the honour. Leo didn't exactly know what struck him in being the latter but he speculated it had to do with the shyness the guy exuded. Leo had found out in seventh grade not to taunt those sort of guys, they usually ended up picking the nearest object (namely, a pencil) and throwing it the best they could at Leo's head. So in the name of honour bound geeks with a vendetta, well, Leo kind of wished for the day he'd stop pointing people out by potential bully stereotype.

The guy's hands flexing, waiting as if for the assault, the boy's lithe frame was much too relaxed to be, well... relaxed. He regarded them, his eyes the blue colour of the Revolutionary's flag. The colour was like that kid's in the movie Passchendaele that Leo, Piper and Jason were forced to watch back at 'Wilderness School'. Where this young German soldier got stabbed in the forehead with a bayonet and the main guy in the movie couldn't stop babbling about the boy's blue eyes. Coach Hedge would have brushed off the opening of the movie. But Leo? No, this guy's eyes were the exact same. It was difficult not to feel like he was going to end up dead in the first couple minutes of meeting him, like that German soldier in the movie did.

"You both look barely older than fifteen," The guy said. Leo had to remember to ask his name, or else he'd end up calling him 'frowny face' or something for the rest of his life. It was still a better nickname than 'Passchendaele'. Even as he thought of it, Leo simultaneously tried to scrub the word out his head. He couldn't look into a stranger's eye and read bloodbath.

"I know, they hire anybody these days," Leo said lifting his arms, "Back in Soviet Russia, I had to eat at least twice the hamburger to be in military service."

"Are you really that old?" The boy asked, perplexed and far too curious.

"He isn't," Piper assured, "Leo is just... Well, this is Leo and I'm Piper so you must be Alec, the shadowhunter."

"You know, that kind of thing was debunked years ago. Shadows don't exist," Leo felt himself blabbing as the tall boy's shadow cast upon him, "They're the absence of light. So I don't really get the whole name thing."

Piper spoke back, flustered, "Leo, stop," she turned to Alec, radiating her beauty out, making her difficult to look at. Her lips became shiny in a warm smile, her eyes swirling with colour. "We were called to have a meeting with you about the current problem. We were told that you were of sworn warriors who destroy monsters."

"You don't know who we are," Alec said, in his grim assessment.

"You're Shadowhunters, right?" Leo said, "So you guys are like elite shadowtravellers?"

"No," Alec said bluntly, turning to Leo, "Not unless you have a different name for my kind. We have never been known as shadowtravellers before."

Something about Alec reminded Leo of Nico. Maybe his mannerism, mostly the gaunt framework he fit everything in. If it wasn't part of whatever world he was living in, he probably didn't want to hear about it. Unlike with Nico, who Leo and everyone agreed was the definition of heeby-jibbies, Leo felt like this guy needed to be poked a ton in the ribs to deflate that holier-than-thou look on his face, even if it meant dodging pencils.

His eyes flickered between Leo and Piper, "Can we end this quickly? I need to get back to my hotel," Alec said. "I didn't leave a note saying I was gone and the sun is coming up," his mouth twisted, grimace or smile, it wasn't easy to tell.

Piper flapped her lashes, her heart rate speeding when she realized that this Alec guy wasn't the least bit affected by her charmspeak. She tried again, her voice making Leo dazed with the sheer lathering, "Alec, you didn't answer my question."

Alec's fingers drummed on his leg, not meeting her eyes with a vengeance. Despite the outward discomfort, he still wasn't falling for her charms. "You wanted to know if my people kill monsters. I can't tell you that we do unless you can define what you want us to kill."

When Leo shared a look with Piper, Alec said, "Define 'monster'."

Leo opened his fat gob, grinning wildly. "You know, big scary beast things. When you kill them they become sand and reform later. If they're trying to add you as an ingredient on the fast food menu, you're probably facing a monster."

Alec nodded, washed with relief.

Piper said, "Many of them were released in Malta. Chiron, our camp director, told us to inform you of the situation so you could gather forces to meet them. We just need you to give your nearest representative this letter," she pulled it from her book bag, placing it in Alec's palm.

"I," Pause, "Accept," Alec said, peering at the letter he held gingerly away. He slid it in his back pocket and began his trek back up the beach.

Only then did Leo notice the strange shape flicking its tail from under the coffee kiosk a couple feet away. It rumbled suddenly, a maniacal sound with absolutely no comparison and lifted its body from the counter to the sand. Deafening and calm for a second, and suddenly loud in the next. A half formed creature took on a gruesome attack. Ignoring Piper and Leo entirely, it's mass, mostly black with hints of colour, elasticated from a thin shape to that like a flying squirrel. It bounded and attempted to tent Alec. But Alec, as agile as Leo suspected he would be, leapt and rolled, using his own force to propel himself back at the creature which decided to pick him for a fight. Alec's grace interrupted by the sand as only a half second setback. He held a blade this time, one that shone like a blue glowstick, and struck towards the creature but missed, not without lack of trying. Something had hit him first. And although the mouthless, eyeless, churning mass was in front of him, the hit flew from behind.

"I have you, my honorary Greek hero," A chilling, disembodied voice rumbled.

Leo watched as the creature disappeared in a black wind with specks of purple, revealing the bleeding body of Alec, the Shadowhunter. Piper, meanwhile, had mad eyes, the heel of her hand to her lips. Traumatized by their lack of action, Piper whimpered at the sad sight. The attack had only lasted four seconds. There was nothing behind the three of them but the ocean and their own ship.

The blade Alec wielded was still blue and white like a TV screen. Inching towards Alec, Leo kept his guard up for another attack. His hands flaming. Stepping closer with Piper, they both went to check Alec's state.

"Don't touch the blade." Alec said, opening his eyes and scaring the shizzle out of Piper and Leo. "Dangerous. It's very," his wince was strong enough to impede his speech.

Piper knelt down, pressing her hand on Alec's neck for a pulse. A steady stream of blood was running down to the inside of his shirt shoulder, pierced through. The red ran down scars there. "Are you okay?" Piper asked while Leo found himself unable to do anything. He wanted to make a joke, laugh, say that that was just the easy round, but he couldn't. Strangely, Alec was looking directly at him; at Leo's hands which were set aflame.

"Don't. Don't touch me," Alec croaked, trying to move but loosing breath immediately, "Something shot me in the shoulder, than that thing attacked me. Can't be a demon, wasn't affected by seraph," he cut himself off, "Help," he said, numbed hand reaching for his cellphone in his pocket, "I need to tell, Magnus. Magnus needs to know that if I won't make it back. Where I am." His face spoke sentences more than he could say at that moment, ' _Don't leave me. If that things comes again, I won't be able to call. Please, just do this one thing. I only need five minutes'_ all with those Passchendaele eyes.

Leo swallowed back a lump in his throat, calming himself down long enough to say. "Okay man. We got you. Just, like, stay cool. Stay breathing. Whatever you need."

They couldn't call this 'Magnus' person since cellphone use was likely to bring all of Gaia's forces down on their ship, but they wouldn't tell Alec that if he was dying.

"We're here for you, Alec," Piper said. But Alec wasn't there for them. As soon as Leo had spoken, Alec's eyelids had fluttered shut. Piper's hand shot to his pulse.

"It's too weak. He's barely breathing. Leo, what do we do?" She pleaded. Her fingers curled around Alec's pale wrist, resting on a black mark. "We need to get him to the nearest hospital. Maybe we should tell a tourist or local," she said.

Leo checked over his shoulder to the Argo II with the dragon out front. He waved to Annabeth's speck of blond hair, motioning for the crew to come help them. Percy was already climbing down and diving into the sea. "The closest medical supplies are on the ship," Piper said. "Oh my gods, Leo, he's bleeding in the sand. This is surreal."

For killing monsters, Leo didn't feel too bad. He knew about the underworld. He knew they would come back. When it came to mortals, humans like his mother, even some of the campers; Leo's comprehension of death was way hazier. It didn't make sense that monsters could be immortal and constantly get chances while normal people who got messed with by the gods would get punished or sent to the fields of Asphodel for being a little too needy, even if their lives sucked in the first place. Passchendaele boy, the same guy Leo stereotyped as a bully was lying nearly dead in the sand. He'd pleaded for them to help him so he could tell someone that he was dying. That last wish wasn't going unspoken on Leo's watch. They'd get this guy back to health, even if it meant dropping him off at their next stop.

"Common, Pipes," Leo said, crouching down to lift Alec's upper half, "You take his legs. We're bringing him to the Argo II."


	5. Scar Tissue

They'd left the Shadowhunter below deck to be nursed to health by Annabeth. His very pale complexion had gone influenza white with the attack. Yet within the first forty minutes of Annabeth's first aid, he'd begun taking his natural colour, his anti-bodies doing a superhuman job at removing the foreign substance which had been shot into his neck.

The real questions arose when the crew checked him for injuries. That _hadn't_ shown well. When they'd peeled away his sweater (now passed), Annabeth had discovered a galaxy of old tissue damage, half erased tattoos and hard earned muscles from what looked like years of labour.

The mortal had hidden himself in grubby sweaters and nothing could have prepared the Argo crew for the ugly violence found underneath his fleece. It felt like examining an x-ray and seeing scissors.

The rest of the crew bid their time taking turns guessing the Shadowhunter's life's story as Annabeth dressed his wounds. She mumbled to herself as she bandaged him, mostly to block out Percy and Leo's nonsense about whether or not it was possible to train clawed animals in the tattoo profession. Her patience was waning extremely slim.

"Honourary Greek," said Annabeth to herself. She'd heard it all the way from the ship, the echo had been everywhere, like a gunshot, "What did they mean by _honourary_ _Greek?"_

Frank shuffled his hair with his hand, leaning forward in his chair. "Yeah, why not Roman?" He hadn't been taking part too feverently in Leo and Percy's ridicule. He was more of a laughing audience kind of guy.

From the corner of her eye, Annabeth peered at Frank, "Romans," Annabeth said, "Valued power, conquest and organisation. The Greeks knowledge of tragedy and humour."

"So, he's either going to be the laughing stock, or he'll die?" Frank said, already afraid to get to know the limp Shadowhunter. Annabeth didn't answer, only mumbled to herself about the deadly combination of ambrosia and mortals. Suddenly, she beckoned Jason forward.

"Show me your shoulder." Jason rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt sleeve. After Camp Half-Blood and the constant demand to see the burns of his legion, Jason had come to know that being asked to show his emblem never led to anything good.

Annabeth hoisted Alec's arm up to compare with Jason's, making Alec move his lips incoherently. She squinted, trying to tear a conclusion out of what she was seeing between both arms. "This skin isn't tattooed but it isn't burned either. It's infused with something that eventually fades," Annabeth said, putting the arm back on Alec's chest and clinically tracing the marks. Her eyes were as sharp as a hawks. "Scarification, I think that's what it's called."

"So," Leo said, interrupting Annabeth's forensics lesson, "If he doesn't Shadowtravel, what in the shadows is doing this? Unless, you know, all these scars come from himself," Leo had had depression before doing this, but he wasn't sure if this was the right conclusion having seen that guy fight. Percy had said something about Prometheus, how when he met him, the man had looked like he'd been attacked by a hundred dangerous hamsters. Either way, Leo was surprised Alec was alive. His skin was another _world_ of crazy.

Annabeth shared a look with Jason before saying, "These are definitely drawn," Annabeth said, pushing her index finger to the black scars. "Some of the same marks come back, some drawn better than others. It's like writing. You can tell when someone else drew them so it can't be all the same work." She got up and circled the victim, pointing out white ones, "Those are normal scars, and some of them have formations, like claw marks." The last ones were discoloured in a way none of the others were, "The grey ones," she couldn't tell if she was seeing a warm colour or a cold one, which was disconcerting. "These aren't like anything I've ever seen before. There aren't any stitches but I swear he's been put back together fairly recently. Like in the last year." Some grafts of skin didn't match up exactly with the others. With all of the doors of death ordeal, she wouldn't have been surprised if this 'Alec' was undead. Her mind went to whirring, trying to pin what they knew about him and who in the past he could have been. Alexander the Great of Macedonia had been a demi-god. That was the closest they had to a lead. And if that was the case an undead Hephaestion was sure to follow.

Suddenly, the ship shuddered, nearly throwing her out of her skin.

Annabeth's back went mast rigid. "The boat stopped. Who's manning?"

"Percy went up there five minutes ago," Frank said, jumping to his feet, "And Hazel and Piper are there too. I think."

"We have to go up there." She said, casting a grey eyed glance to her patient but looking back to the ship window when the grating restarted.

A voice vibrated through the ship. " _Where_ is _my honorary Greek_?"

Frank, his back to the patient, hadn't noticed, through his soundlessness, fingers prying off his arrow case from his back. Too late, Annabeth saw him up. She put together that he had been pretending to sleep and in the next second, Alec was gone, bumping Frank's shoulder and ripping away his bow in his speed.

Frank turned around, "What the -"

Annabeth sprinted after her patient but he had longer legs then hers and he didn't move like a mortal.

Next to her, Frank became a lizard and scuttled down the hallway after Alec, Frank's body turning into a monkey when they reached the deck. Launching himself off a pole, Frank flew strait to Alec and his bow, but lost his target when Alec ducked out of the way, clearly ready for aerial attacks.

"I'll give it back," Alec grumbled, just loud enough for Frank to hear, shooting him a sour look, "Just let me kill this for you. Let me protect you."

The scene was a remake of the one on the beach. A giant, discoloured thing was being shot and fireblasted and pumpkin blasted and muffin blasted with every possible demigod arsenal. But the creature was only semi-corporal. Even Percy's water couldn't dissipate something without a true body.

"It's like fighting a projection." Hazel yelled from her perch on the left deck. "And it doesn't feel like a ghost at all!"

Frank was watching as Alec, shirt like swiss cheese, marched up to the centre of the deck, took a throwing knife out of his boot and cinched it to Frank's bow. He let it fly with horrible accuracy, aiming for the general mass of the creature because since there wasn't any recognisable features. The mass of smoke shuddered with the hit but did not cry out.

" _Silly Nephilim_ ," the creature bellowed, although Frank realized a little late that the voice wasn't coming from the direction of the thing they were fighting. " _Even with nerves that feel, I cannot die._ "

Brainlessly, Alec didn't take that. He marched further, shooting harder. He dropped the bow and leaned down to reach for his belt when suddenly, the massive churning chaos leaped out like an elastic, took him by the chest and sent him soaring fifty feet in the air. His cry snapped away by the wind.

Speaking of obliterated, the creature that they'd been fighting disappeared soon after. Leaving the crew standing in various fighting poses with a realization: They had met their first Shadowhunter, and he hadn't lasted three hours in their world. What were they going to tell Rachel?


	6. Achilles' Heel Stops by to Chat

Abductions like these were undeniably cruel.

The clouds at Alec's back vaguely parted white past his shoulders of black. He needed to think of a way to land that wouldn't kill or _rip_ him of important limbs from shoulders to sockets. With that thought in mind, Alec swiveled his head around, trying to get a clear view of what his death would look like, but he was still far above, far above the teal blue which sparked with sunlight. The ocean wasn't peaceful at all, rather resembling a churning electrical machine going haywire with hidden activity.

Despite the insanity he was experiencing, Alec had enough mind to pinch his steele out of his pocket and jot the runes for fireproof and deflect; to fly was, after all, to fall to the ground and miss. That's how he understood it from literature by Douglas Adams.

Just when he noticed that he wasn't falling, merely gliding, Alec turned back to look at the sky. Only, his view was obstructed by a patrician face only inches from his own. It beheld a rude closeness. One that made Alec seize up and dart his eyes to find the best choke hold or grasp he should take to get the person away from his body (in mid air).

"You should not headbutt your savior, archer boy," the person said, with a voice that pushed soft breeze in the shadowhunter's bangs. Alec realized that this person had wings, wings and a protective hold on him, keeping his body from pancaking flat against an endless sea.

The weirdness of being saved by an angel motorized the part of Alec's brain that dissected strangeness and filtered it.

"By the - You're not one of them." Alec said, more logic than awe. "An angel, I mean. Angels have eyes on their feathers and-"

"You're right," the not-angel said, "I am but the wind. The West Wind, Zephyrus. Server of Eros and the King of the Gods."

The sky's bright blue was making Alec's head pound. The only way not to look into the light was by narrowing on the slim face of this near transparent Zephyrus above him.

"I have come to serve you," Zephyrus said, "As we have come to need you. The demand for disasters has left, and you are where you should be. You may not understand the piece you play in this game, but I assure that you will be safe from now on."

Alec felt dizzy, this was technically the closest he'd ever been to meeting a God. A tender, bisexual one, with sultry eyes and a smell like spring flowers whizzing around. The smell left Alec too nauseated to appreciate the looks. Spring always triggered allergies. Despite needing medication for fear of a sneezing fit, the flowery aura radiated peace and quietude, two things that (coupled with the fact that falling from this height would definitely kill him) kept Alec from being the first mortal in history to deck Zephyrus, the wind god. Resorting to violence was a tendency Alec only took when something important was at stake or his personal space had been badly breached.

Sick from flying, Alec said, "I don't know why you're doing this," _carrying me through the sky in your arms_.

Zephyrus' smile was lax, "Beautiful boy, I do this because I live to serve." And his breeze which was fingers on Alec's forearms loosened and loosened until Alec free fell onto the only possible island for miles.

* * *

Magnus' eyes peeled open in the sharp morning light. Clear, albino light filtered through a whitewashed room. Something in the root of its aura felt wrong, like suddenly being aware of an unwanted spider but Magnus, instead of following his instinct rolled to cast an arm beside him, searching for the usually clingy warmth that shadowed him across sea and land on this fabulous vacation. His Alec wasn't in bed. Frowning, Magnus scanned with magic instead of his eyes, which he kept shut a little longer.

Alec's tingling, calm-anxious aura seemed fixed in the bathroom.

Delighted, Magnus' chest fell, comforted by the results his probing spell. Instead of calling for Alec, Magnus wondered to himself whether he should start with fixing his hair or preparing a charming breakfast. He and Alec planned a promenade in the town center but they'd have to wait after the nation wide nap to get the full, expansive life of the Italian coast. It was much too early in the afternoon to go anywhere open without several blocks of scorching sunlight brought to them by Hell-ios himself. It was one of those years where witches took to bottling this heatwave and sold it to the Icelanders and Inuits when they were in dire need of more than three hours of sunlight. Hefty money could be made in that business, not that Magnus completely agreed with moving natural resources in crates like that, even if it was just sunlight. He much rather the experts in creating sunlight in the north to do so on their own power rather than that of the Mediterranean. But enough business thoughts on an Italian morning, Magnus shook himself of it.

One cold, bare foot pressed to an even colder floor. Taking a second to warm, Magnus hefted himself to a zombie-awoken stance, teetering from the head rush of his too slow blood suddenly pooling quickly with gravity. He glanced up, cat eyes intent on the bathroom door. His senses suddenly weren't sure of Alec being alright.

Magnus skimmed the table on his way to the white door, fingers brushing near the postcards Alec wrote for his sister. None were out of place or harboured tear stains from whatever breakdown Isabelle could induce. That was a good sign.

Idly, Magnus plucked up his own phone and day clothes. After three minutes of hearing nothing from inside the bathroom, Magnus finally noticed that the lights were off under the door.

"Alexander?" he called, knuckles raised to shock the wood.

No answer. Not even a breath.

"Alec?" he said softly.

Nothing.

Alec's aura was certainly there at second spell but as Magnus soon found out, there was no thermal energy, no human warmth.

A next spell sent the door to another part of the hotel as it teleported from its hinges.

The bathroom, contained some empty, some dark and no sign of Alec or his corpse, but there was a tinge of bathroom being used earlier that day. The water facet dripped methodically, something Magnus would never allow. Entering with flawless grace, Magnus scanned the bathroom. A bloodless bathtub, a gleaming toilet and if he turned the full degree of his head and looked only with the corner of his eye, Magnus could see _someone's face_ in the mirror.

"Lilith," Magnus said. "Tacky horror movies called! They want their bathroom trope back."

But rounding on the mirror washed away the face he saw.

Turning just right, Magnus calculated where the person was standing. Pinpointing the location, he snatched up his glitter powder from the vanity and blew the glitter toward the ghost with a powerful lungful of air (the original invention of glitter by a certain Branwell didn't lose its use throughout the years. This glitter invention to find the dead was on upward curve given the sheer mass of ghosts was being made faster than the spirits were getting peace).

" _Boo_ ," Magnus said and smirked because, lo and behold, a ghost shinning bright gold like a Twilight vampire.

He was of average built, with long eyelashes now dusted and doe eyes. His curly hair and folded tunic pointed toward a fairly ancient empire, even older than the famed buildings outside. Magnus let his smirk fall at the glitter which stuck to the man's stomach wounds, tracing skin that looked ripped by human hands at certain places. The man's tunic too was torn and parts of his scalp looked bald by force.

Leaning a hip on the edge of the counter, Magnus crossed his arms. "You don't have to stand there so quietly. In fact, I'd like if you didn't," Magnus said, then added, "Unless you're a _shy_ ghost."

"My heart does not want me away and speaking to immortals if it can be helped," the man said in Ancient Greek. Fortunately, Magnus understood the language immediately if not halted by the roundness of the vowels in his rough accent.

"Your heart?" Magnus said but didn't dwell too long on it. "Well, it's Ancient Greek etiquette that I do play host to you before I ask your name so I suppose you should follow me to the kitchen."

The man examined Magnus with a conscious eye to his physical appearance, sorrowful and lost in the ages. Magnus was completely foreign with his newfangled clothes in comparison to the ghosts' tunic and sandals. There was so much time between them.

It made sense suddenly, to how Magnus had mistaken this ghost's aura for Alec's, the man had the same sweet and anxious feeling to him. The feeling of being put in the wrong era and destroyed for it.

"I'm Magnus from Brooklyn," Magnus lead the ghost to the kitchen while texting a quick 'Where R U?' to Alec.

"I don't know Brooklyn," the ghost said, floating cautiously behind Magnus. The sun erased everything from the ghost but his glitter.

Magnus, in the meanwhile, fished from the hotel's complimentary basket a chocolate bar. A rapper pealed and a couple ancient words later the ghost was able to gnaw on the edge of the chocolate since he'd clearly sipped from the sink earlier to keep his form. The dead usually used blood to grow stronger but Magnus wasn't willing to cut his finger for a mere conversation. Not because he was afraid of the pain but because warlock blood tended to make dead creatures mad. Camille had bitten him enough times to be a textbook case. It made Magnus uncomfortable to think that her recklessness may have been the fault of their long, wild relationship.

Nope, none of his half-demon blood was going to blood banks for the undead after that loveless disaster.

"Now, at the risk of you pulling an Odysseus on me and avoiding ever telling me your name, so tell me," Magnus said, motioning with his hand to get on with it.

"Chironides," the ghost introduced himself. _Son of Chiron_.

Magnus held his impatience in check best he could, but it was difficult with such an elusive man.

"Chiron has many children, dear, but he was never a birth parent to anyone," Magnus said, "You have to be more specific. A first name, maybe?"

"Wait," the ghost said, "You know of Odysseus?"

Magnus' smile tightened, "There's a fairly popular story named _The Odyssey_ which has been translated into most languages nowadays," Magnus said cattily, "It's very old and _obvious_."

"How old?" the ghost said.

A little sympathy slipped into Magnus' answer, "At least seven hundred before the common era, that's what? Two thousand, seven hundred years ago, _but_ the story dates back even further if that's what you're asking."

The ghost was getting less vague by the minute, placing himself to be better understood. "Does the story include the hero Achilles?"

"Oh," Magnus said, "The Odyssey is the sequel to the _Iliad_ which is all about Achilles. In fact, the opening line of that story, if I remember it correctly, is: _Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus_."

The ghost man looked sickened by this. His adam's apple bobbed as he let out a tiny sob.

"So, that aside," Magnus, a little uncomfortable to have made a ghost cry for whatever reason, wanted to get back on topic, "Who are you exactly and why were you in my mirror?"

"I myself am Patroclus."

Magnus felt himself trip on his words to apologize for being nonchalant but Patroclus went on, cutting him off.

"I have come as a messenger," _aggelos_ : a word meaning messenger but was now the root of 'angel'.

"Why specifically you?" Magnus said.

Patroclus looked to the floor, probably hoping the underworld would eat him up again, "On one hand, of all the Greeks of my kin, I can be diplomatic without ulterior motive. On the other hand, I decided to tell you because the fates and gods have your dear one's path on a thread. I have come to warn you, for I know the feeling of being used by the gods as a means to an end."

This meant a lot considering the true Achilles' heel was saying this warning. Once Patroclus went to the afterlife, Achilles did everything in his power to avenge him and to die the soonest after. If vengeance meant an arrow in a weak state, so be it. Being born and bred for war meant nothing without the only person who treated him as a human being. Patroclus' death meant Achilles no longer had the will to live because he finally saw who he was to everyone and the gods used that. The gods _knew_ that Achilles' mind would crack and he would avenge Patroclus over his own life.

"What are you saying?" Magnus said, although he could guess, "I have many dear ones."

"Alexander," Patroclus said, sending a fizzing pop through Magnus' joints in the form of sharp pain. "Is presently fulfilling his journey across the sky to fall an angel on the island of Ogygia," There it was again, the word messenger and angel. It would be hundred years or more before the feathered, Biblical image would appear in Greek diction.

"Why do they want Alec? What could the gods possibly want with a Nephilim?" Magnus said, laughing bitterly, "You'd think the gods have enough enslaved mythical creatures to keep them company." The lights around them flickered in confusion as sparks fizzled from Magnus' hands and into the wires. If he didn't get his cool, the entire hotel was at risk, the entire city block even. Fire or outage, his destructive power could eat the city whole. His name was Magnus Bane, great destruction, for reasons he hadn't explored in centuries. It seemed it took the gods kidnapping Alexander to dig up primordial switches in his DNA which he'd long kept controlled.

Patroclus just shook his head at him, "I do not know what the gods would want. How could I?"

That wasn't the proper answer for Magnus.

"The gods sent you!" Magnus said, eyes flashing, "Don't be cruel."

Magnus was seething, but his fingers were curled to keep the shockwave in. A more dependable sign of control. A little mantra in his mind, an old sigil, lulled the emotional part of him to cease until he could think of a way to control himself.

"Achilles keeps me hidden from the gods," Patroclus said, "He saw how they manipulate all forms of life. He fears if I am present, the gods will use me again as they are doing now. As they are doing to your Alexander," if only Patroclus knew how much he wasn't helping.

Magnus felt even more chilled then the numbing sigil could bring.

"What can I do?" Magnus said.

"Appease the gods, keep Alexander from their missions, and find Leo Valdez," Patroclus said, "Alexander does not need to die. It has not been prophesied. That does not mean, however, that he cannot."

Magnus felt the aura fade slowly as the sunlight disintegrated Patroclus' ghost in the mortal world.

Only then Magnus understood that Patroclus' 'heart' was actually a term of _endearment_ for Achilles.

"Anything else?" Magnus asked, too sober for this.

By his suddenly relaxed shoulders and quick blinking, Patroclus looked relieved to be sent back to his shelter bellow the earth where things made sense and the lights weren't as bright. As Patroclus' face, turned to the sun and began to let the glitter fall away, he said, "The sun reminds me of Briseis' divergent faith. I hope she is in luxury with her gods for I never did see her again."

Once the ghost of Patroclus was completely gone, leaving but a puddle of gold glitter in the sun, Magnus let out a harsh, choice word.

Clearly some gods _wanted to die_ , that had to be the only sensibly reason for taking Alec in his most vulnerable time while away from his overly protective family. His boyfriend had always been like a bunny rabbit in a cage of wolves.

Yes, clearly some gods were asking to die this morning and if they dared ruin Alec like they were ruining his vacation, Magnus would feed them Hellfire for breakfast. He had connections. He was not afraid, and he was not too busy to bring them all down to Hades for a seminar on harassment.

* * *

Head spinning with drunken ardor, Alec clawed at sand bound roots, immune to physical pain what with the emotional distress that was playing garbage presser on his internal organs. The useful organs too, he thought in a daze. Fingers which once had been entangled in his bloody, black hair soon met the sand and scrabbled. He could feel them but they didn't hurt as much as his mind did.

"I think I'm going to," he heaved, though not sickeningly so, the least sickeningly it could sound wise be. Like a child who'd forgotten how to cry, how to speak, his sweat and bent shape were the only signs of total distress. To heaving, he made no sound but drawing air. Oxygen couldn't reach his brain fast enough as the panic attack set in.

Calypso, who was watching from her perch in the trees, slithered down to soft sand when he began whimpering, biting his lip until it bled.

In a past where men had a nature of suffering in silence, the island's new victim could be a poster boy for it.

Frankly, she was sick of rushing to every heroes' aid. He'd survive with a little time alone. This new boy looked like he needed to find himself.

When he did, her home would be ready. For now, she felt as if she was just been sentenced to a whole _new_ level of Dante's Hell.

What Calypso didn't understand seeing Alec was that he wasn't only sick from his skyfall and crash, Alec knew in some very gross way that his biggest fear had been realized. He was dead. Now, death wasn't something he was afraid to face for split second of pain or whatever came after. What made his body cool and heat all at once was the possible _reactions_ of everyone he knew. His sister's shell didn't need to be hardened. Jace's parabatai rune didn't need to be cold and faithless (and who would there be to... oh wait, Alec thought, _Clary_ ). Max was a gory enough wound. And Magnus, Magnus would move on, (this is the most selfish part of me, Alec thought), Magnus would go back to his usual tangent of flings and unrequited love for a while before one day dying. If he died soon, Alec wouldn't be there to save him or hold his hand as he went.

With one demon, the doors of the universe were closed on Alec. Alec wished, crunched with knees in the sand, that that strange Greek angel would come back. In a minutes of flight there could have been hours, or days of length if Alec was really trapped by downworlders posing as the Greek Gods, he thought. Angel knew.

* * *

 **((A/N: Patroclus' rendition comes from a short one novel named 'The Song of Achilles' by Madeline Miller.** **The book Song of Achilles feeds off the idea that the Iliad is just stories told later about these sworn warriors, and what actually took place was different. Patroclus in The Song of Achilles isn't an Iliad war leader, rather a medic, and Achilles may be arrogant, but its a trait acquired to mask incredible, sweet ignorance unfit for the killing machine he's literally bred to be. I realize that Percy met Achilles in the Last Olympian. Achilles' ghost in that was exactly what his name brings to the imagination, scarred with a shaved head and bloody arrow in his heel. But his eyes were the same as in The Song of Achilles. I think Achilles would want Percy to be afraid of him if he went through the trouble of talking to him at the river Styx. I think Achilles may have looked like what Percy would take the most seriously, when 'reality' is much stranger. In the Song of Achilles, Achilles is blond with tan skin and looks like a child of Apollo, but the price at which he gets his godliness makes looking like a rat in a shack seem positively Utopian.**

 **Most of the time it'** **s considered vain to say that beauty is a curse but it's true that there is something unfair in how unequal Achilles was given it. He can't possibly know normal people thoughts so he clings to Patroclus and is baby fed life from Patroclus and his father only. He's too much like his mother goddess to simply 'get it' because humans are, dare I say it, too complex for a mostly godly boy. Human maliciousness isn't as strait forward as that of the gods, their attempts to bring joy are hazy and difficult to decipher. Their feelings aren't as polarized.**

 **As for the other character in that book, they're like the Avengers of Ancient Greece. Odysseus is the brains, Diomedes is the sarcastic brains, Big Ajax is the muscle, Automedon is the horseman, Agamemnon is the chief and Achilles is the best.**

 **If you're interested in getting a taste of the book, a Youtuber named** **_Life in Fandom_ ****made a video** _The Song of Achilles | OPENING_ **which is a minute and six seconds of everything you're going to feel reading the book** _. Gods, it's such a great video. **))**_


	7. Liaison

For the first evening, Alec didn't ever try to visit the house. Although he knew it was there, he even heard various movement inside, he still decided to live in the woods; keeping as far as possible from the lived in area. As uncharacteristically stupid as that seemed, living away from the house benefited him for obvious reasons.

The forest was a safer, darker place to be. There he would live to meet what was possibly harmful, such beasts with which he could locate himself. Once he was done scouting, Alec promised that he would pick whether or not it was safe to move inward into the inhabited lot, and make his presence known. For now, the darkness would be his cover since shadowhunting had the curse of converting its followers to nocturnality (fighting demons by day were demons fighting themselves for picking the wrong time to appear).

In the forest the sun made little contact with his porcelain flesh. As his skin was normally bleached from an hereditary line of night-shifts, the sun did not take kindly to Alec. He was as white as the suds of a wave. A mere speckle of sun without the proper wear would mean constant iratzes; one third degree burn to heal the other burn of the third degree.

Patches of warm, yoke light speckled the floors of the island's ever changing terrain. From the sand, grass, and from the grass, a little past the flowers, the terrain changed again to parched soil with distinctively Greek trees (desert dry ones with occasional olives). As a boy used to Central Park with greenery so lush in thorough soaking of faery magic, Alec found it safer in the dust. The cavern-turned-into-cottage (this island's only dwelling) was also speckled with plant life. The wet kind that faeries would thrive in in frightening numbers; where they bit toes and set traps.

While the garden smelt of magic, the forest didn't.

Another perk had to do with his weaponry. Alec held this deep fear of too easily trusting strangers after what had brought him here. Walking into an old ladies home with throwing knives, a bow and arrow casing and black leather, could lead to further violence. He couldn't sleep easily knowing someone could disarm him.

Being a Shadowhunter, he was used to constantly teetering himself between self-actualizing and physiological needs. Surviving out in the woods after rich hotel nights stabilized him. It made him think of nothing at all but the sounds, the smells and the cool air laced with magic. This clarity made murky the fact that the ones he should have been caring for; those who couldn't be healed by his hands with gentle persistence, were far.

Soundlessly, Alec hugged a branch and kicked to swing his leg into a central tree. It held him with admirable strength for branches so dry and thin. He'd handled the branch more gently then was needed, still enough, he didn't feel too shameful about it. Jace would have arched the air with perfection, probably broken the branch but kicked off to the next one by the ruined shards. Jace, however, wasn't as tall as Alec (who, before stability runes, had taken growth spurts with the grace of a newborn calf). Jace also had nothing against freak property damage. There was no telling to who this tree belonged to.

Pitching his gaze across the heights, Alec found himself able see two adjacent beaches. The forest led to another field, another beach and another end. This was an island and nothing was around it coming in or out.

Suddenly, Alec touched his pant pocket, patting it down. He cursed the demigods of the flying ship. How stupid they were! By taking his sweater, they'd taken his phone.

* * *

The adapted ship board detected a disturbance at sea, something in a hood floated toward the Argo II like a fricken' dementor and there was nothing Leo's controls were willing to do about it. Head the canons? Throw the nachos? (If it was a dementor, they had to throw chocolate, there was no other choice).

Leo cast his voice out to his shipmates. "Guys, did you decide to invite any gods? Because I think this one's from, like, the wrong religion."

Jason and Piper were automatically at the haul, tipping their noses in the direction of the humanoid thing that was walking on water. Well, it was actually hovering inches off the surface. Leo could tell it wasn't mechanical.

"Hey!" Percy yelled, "Person with the cloak! Great costume but, uh, could you state your name and purpose? We can't really see you through all this fog."

Leo suddenly felt a dreaded guilt in his stomach. He wrenched himself to yell beside Percy at the looming figure, "Are you a Shadowhunter?"

The figure stopped and just as Leo feared, things were started to look a hella lot more complicated. Greek and Roman Titans and gods were constant planets in their solar system but if they'd seriously just made another unrelated enemy, Leo was going to catapult himself to New Jersey and live out his life as a hermit, he wasn't even kidding.

"Shadowhunter, huh," Leo said nervously.

"No," the thing said.

Dementors didn't have smooth, conversational voices, Leo thought, dementor's didn't talk at all. This wasn't a dementor. It was probably some smooth jazz singer walking with enormous, invisible sponges across the ocean to talk to them. Leo vaguely wondered if it was really Jesus cause that _would be_ so cool.

"Wrong guess," the figure said, running a hand through his hair until his hood had slid off revealing a young man with intense, designer brand eyeliner. "Do I have permission to board? It would be suitable to have this conversation face to face."

 _Dang_ , probably not Jesus.

Percy shook his head to himself, and said. "You're treading on dangerous waters. We don't know who you are or what you want."

"You're right, you've never met me and I was _hoping_ we'd never meet, but alas, fate has brought us together," he sighed, "I am Magnus Bane," The name jolted Leo to all those chats, all those messages. What had been Alec's last wish?

"You're Alec's guardian, right?" Percy asked before looking up to Leo and the crew as if for confirmation.

"Levitating on water is so tiring," Magnus made a fanning motion, "Would you be a dear and not startle arrive on your deck? Sword wounds are such a bother-definitely not something you forget in a millennia."

A new scent infused the breeze near Leo and Percy, moments later the cloaked figure materialized, smiling bashfully. "Why, hello," Magnus said, a twinkling of glee in his awful, inhuman eyes which were the pupil equivalent of a particularly shocking piercing. "I must say, this ship is brilliant. It's like its own castle, complete with a living dragon."

"Actually, it's just a robot," Percy said, lowering his weapon but not his shoulders.

Magnus regarded Percy with a raised eyebrow, "I think we both know that's not true."

"Okay," Leo said, trying to protect Percy from the condescending guy in makeup. "What myth are you from?" He directed this to Magnus.

"My own," Magnus responded automatically. He spread his hands out, palms facing up, "I have little to no history with the Greeks," pause, "Well, unless you count a liaison with a Greek God but that didn't last. We were too similar and he was married," Magnus grinned, "It simply _couldn't_ work."

"Seriously, though," Leo said.

"I'm from a time after the Greeks and Romans had their empires," Magnus amended. "Not everything important came from the movement of classical western civilization." Magnus said, suddenly he looked a little too smiley, one of his under eyes twitching with his stretched face, "Now, I just spent five hours of my life working on a tracking spell only to find out from Alec's sister that you are on a flying ship over water. My tracking spells _don't work_ over water. I'll have you know, I am very ticked off right now and someone here _better_ have the name Leo Valdez. Because if this is the wrong magic flying boat, I will be so much _more_ frustrated."

Hazel crept and hid behind the deck boxes, Annabeth at her shoulder watching. It seemed that some of the crew that had other jobs had decided to see the next scene of this series of events. The first attack had already taken a toll on the crew's mental health. It just didn't feel okay to watch another innocent get pulled into their overly challenging lives. The last one was particularly shocking, mostly because he bled all over the deck. This guy was just weird, though.

"Uh, _I'm_ Leo Valdez," Leo said tentatively, stepping forward minutely, but not too much, "I'm just wondering, then, so, you're not here for Alec?"

"Given Alec isn't here, he's on an island with a nymph named Calypso," Magnus said, "I'm guessing I was led to you because you know where I can find him. Either that, or you have another part in this."

Leo swallowed, feeling light headed, "I'm pretty sure I'm the right guy."

Walking out from her hiding place, Hazel marched right up to Magnus, "How do you know that Alec is on Ogygia?" Leo knew she was doing this for him.

Magnus said, "The ghost of Patroclus son of Menoetius visited me this morning in my bathroom."

"Patroclus?" Annabeth said, eyes rounded.

Leo, thinking Patroclus was another of Calypso's past guys, looked to his friends, trying to figure out what that meant for him. "Who's this Patroclus guy?"

Percy shrugged, "Sounds familiar," Hazel nodded in agreement.

"He's Achilles' friend," Annabeth said, "The one he _died_ for."

Percy suddenly got it, "I remember Achilles mentioning him back before I took the curse. Or was he talking about his mom?" He trailed off. Annabeth couldn't help him since she hadn't been there.

" _I think_ the term friend is watering it down a little. Soulmate or boyfriend is more like it," Magnus said, "But yes, you're correct, it was Achilles' Patroclus. He was sent by the gods to warn me that Alec was taken to Ogygia with no further explanation."

"But what does he have to do with Calypso?" Leo said.

Magnus attempted a guess, "He kept talking about being used by the gods as a means to an end. He just seemed sad. I can't tell you for what purpose," Magnus said, "Not that it matters. More pressingly, I would appreciate your cooperation in scooping Alec from Calypso's island, if you don't mind."

The Argo II crew were stuck in an uncomfortable place. Finally Annabeth spoke up.

"We can't help you," she said bluntly, "We're on a mission with a time limit and Calypso is on an island where no one can visit twice. Even if two of our members have seen her island, both of them can't go back."

"May I at least speak to the ones who've been on her island?" Magnus said, "Perhaps this would be a better conversation for around a table."

Annabeth nodded, motioning to the door that lead below deck, "Leo, Percy, show Magnus Bane to the dining room."

Hazel touched Annabeth's shoulder, "Can I go with them?"

"Of course," Annabeth said, "The rest of us will try to make up for lost time," she said, her eyes shining with curiosity, "Quickly, go. I expect you to tell me everything later," she said to Hazel.

* * *

"You're not worried for him," Magnus clarified from what he'd heard from Leo, Hazel and Percy, "How are you so sure Alexander won't suffer from this?"

"That's easy," Leo said bitterly, his head in its twisted hate faced to the ground as if Magnus couldn't see his expression. "He's a hero type, he'll fall in love with Calypso, she will too after a long while of not submitting to her feelings, and he'll be off in the sunset on his own raft in no time."

Magnus' lip twitched at the dramatic irony, "Not to be a fussbudget," Magnus said pleasantly calm. "But I can already see how this is a dead end," Magnus motioned to freeze, far from finishing, "Enlighten me on how the zone of Calypso works? I know she holds prisoners, slept with Odysseus and turned previous suitors into birds..." Magnus had stopped, the sheer red anger emitting from Leo Valdez could have stopped a train. Surely he'd struck a nerve by the way Leo was fisting his flame. A real flame, Magnus noted in his stupor. Crimson as the blood of vampires, glittering firelight...

"It's not like that," Leo ground out, seeming to cool himself (but not without Magnus quietly enchanting the nerves he'd pent), "Calypso is the nicest, kindest, most selfless girl, woman - whatever. She doesn't even try. You can't even imagine the grief. Her punishment is... so messed up." The cabin had become a quiet spectacle, seeming to have grown a gap.

Steepling his fingers, Magnus sat back in a chair. "Slower now," Magnus said sympathetically, like a therapist, "Unless I'm mistaken, you were in love with Calypso but the curse has torn you apart. That's delicate territory, hon. It means you're not helping in this rescue mission for Alec. You'd sooner want to save Calypso."

"Leo," Percy said, stepping out, "You met Calypso-"

"Don't botch this, Percival. If you know the answer, there's plenty of chances to marvel over it later." Magnus said.

"Perseus," Percy corrected, flabbergasted at being snapped at by a good guy. His neurons took a moment to launch. It clearly wasn't every day that Percy told people to use his full name.

The authority Magnus held was fraying Percy's nerves. Everyone and Percy's dog knew that he didn't react well to relatively selfish seeming authoritative figures.

Percy's comfort level with Magnus was blurred with thoughts of Calypso, though, so he hadn't said anything disrespectful or rash yet. Really, Calypso was the type of topic that buried future and present tense. She was a mystery, a mistake Percy coudn't write off, and exactly everything that which Leo listed. Percy said, "I was just going to say that I agree with Leo. Calypso is the closest person in Ancient Greece to a saint."

"And I was saying," Leo said, "Calypso can't get off her Island. She's stranded. Sometimes the gods feel bad for her and sends her an idiot like me or Percy," Percy muttered 'thanks man', and Leo grinned before saying, "Only, it's always someone who won't stay or can't," he was swept up and rambling now, "When she falls in love with him, a tiny raft comes and he just leaves off in the sunset. No one's ever been to her island twice."

Magnus swore a sharp profanity in some crackling language, rising from his chair, he said, "This stratagem could have worked a couple months ago," Magnus stomped across the room, fiddling with a lightbulb before swooping back to them like a pterodactyl. "If he wasn't out, this wouldn't be a problem. I mean, it could certainly still work but in the instance-"

"Man, sit down. What are you talking about?"

"True or false," Magnus said with a flourishing circular motion, "Does she have to fall in love with him romantically? Lustfully?"

"Well yeah," Leo said, veering to Percy who just shrugged.

"So if they're just friends, he can never leave. You _did_ both fall in love with her in this way, and she to you?"

Receiving the sheepish Percy's grimace and Leo's intense stare, Magnus' lips pressed together in a hard line.

"I don't think you're getting what we're telling you. She's the one who can't leave." Leo said.

"Oh, no, I understand too well," Magnus said, "She only has to fall in love or did you have to have romantic inclination too?"

"I think it's both," Percy said, remembering the beginnings, the feelings he had for Calypso right before he left.

Magnus said, "Then, if it's lust towards her that the gods are looking for, this _might_ not work."

"I don't know man," Leo said, almost cracking a smile as he added, "She's like a model."

"But," Magnus said, "I know the _boy_ she's with. I'd even go so far to say under his skin." By now, the amount of times he'd had to stitch up Alec from gauging injury should have made Ripley's. Magnus, stroking an imaginary beard, said, "I _do_ hope Calypso likes curly fries, because I happen to know Alec _very well_ and it doesn't take much to figure out that there is not a single heterosexual bone in his body."

"Wait, you mean-" Leo said.

"He's about as straight as a spring," Magnus amended theatrically, but his eyes were honest, "They'd have had better chances with me. Not only that, but women tend to have an intuition for these things," Magnus seemed even more bothered by another point.

"But I thought he was on some kind of romantic vacation," Percy said, then he smacked himself in the head when Magnus patiently waited for him to connect the dots. " _Right_."

Leo didn't know if he should congratulate himself or punch himself in the face for having figured it out a second before Percy. "Back on the beach. The person he said he had to get back to was you because," Leo said. " _Daaarn_."

Magnus' shoulders and face sagged at the mention, "He said that?" Smoothing a hand over his forehead, Magnus propped his feet up on Buford, the wonder table. "I know the whole world thinks our relationship is doomed to fail but this is beyond reasonable."

Magnus peeked an eye between his fingers and said, "Another strange thing is that you're both demigods, and there hasn't seemed to be a hero sent to this island who wasn't one since Odysseus."

"Wasn't Apollo, like, Odysseus' uncle or something?" Leo asked. "No, wait, his parents were a demigod couple, his dad's side from Zeus and his mom from Hermes. Not that I asked Annabeth about it or anything. 'Cause I definitely didn't at all..."

Magnus said, "Ah, but, Alexander doesn't possess any godly blood."

Percy scratched his head, "Are you sure? His name is already Greek, and he can fight."

Magnus played with a ring on his finger. "I've known his family line for generations. His blood is as pure and old as the Danish monarchies'. Those who didn't abide to the laws of blood in his family put in place were decreed as fools and exiled. You could say they _wormed_ out," looking up at both demigods, Magnus added, "Plus, I would be able to sense it. He doesn't bleed or smell like you do, demigods."

"Well, that's not creepy," Leo said.

"My gifts may be strange, but they are accurate."

"But he's not human, either, right?" Percy said.

"No. He's part angel." Of Percy, Leo and Hazel, Hazel seemed the most affected by that. She looked like there was something she wanted to ask, but she kept quiet for the moment. Leo wished she'd just put it out there, whatever it was because she looked so mortified.

Magnus went on, "Alec is wingless, of course, and too good for this ungodly world that seems to think that _pitching_ him off a boat would make a hilarious take on Paradise Lost, if you get the reference."

"It's not okay for that to happen to anyone, demigod or demi- _angel_ or whatever," Leo said, feeling more and more wired with the mystery, "You're saying that you think this isn't a coincidence. That this was meant to happen?"

"You live in a world where the Fates literally exist. How could you believe in pure luck?" Magnus said, "That's how I'm justifying it for now," he said, much more seriously, "Because I need justification on why the some immortal being from nowhere would take my boyfriend who is on a vacation in a foreign land, pick him up and drag him onto a desert island and leave him to endure. It's an action that's on par with kidnapping sleeping homeless people from the city and leaving them in a cold field in the middle of the night. Either the one doing the kidnapping is a psychopathic nutcase or there's something else. That is why I want a full inquiry," Magnus said, "Did my boyfriend insult the gods in any way? As far as I know, he didn't know about them."

"Somnus - or Hypnos in Greek was said to have winged sons," Hazel said, finally speaking. Leo felt a spark, a longing to know what was burdening her, "Cupid has wings. There's a lot of gods with wings," Hazel said, "He could have been related to angels from our mythology."

Magnus listened carefully to her but ultimately shook his head, "Unless Cupid is forty feet tall and can only be summoned in a pentagram, I'd say they don't have much in common."

Hazel frowned, "That sounds like Titans," she said, the word practically a swear. To her, it was the closest thing.

Magnus' gaze flitted to the ceiling as he repositioned himself to speak solely to her, his low voice rumbling pensive thoughts, "I suppose, if that's all there is to compare to, then Angels are like Titans. Angels are very Titan-esque, what with their ultimate control and primordial presence. Unlike Titans, they do not exist to our sights in this world. They thrive in perfection, wherever they come from, they are divine. They collectively have an eye in the future, and sometimes they will contact us with messages," he said, "But angels are not Titans. Alexander's race was said to have transformed into hybrids long ago by ingesting the blood of the angel which created the first Nephilim, since that's what they're called. They're Shadowhunters, like Alexander, if the Nephilim work to punish demons," Magnus wasn't saying kill because demons only permanently died in their own dimension. "By this story, the Nephilim were created like the gods made animals, in action to punish or save specific people."

"And you're not one of them," Hazel said solemnly, her molten gold eyes boring into him, with such intensity that Magnus felt young, "You talk about Alexander like he's a mythical beast, but you never really associate yourself with him as one too."

"No," Magnus said, "I'm not. I'm a mythical beast of other sorts," he said, "If you must know, I'm half-demon."

"That's possible?" Hazel asked.

"Well, when a demon loves a human very much—just kidding, demons don't have love."

"Then you?" Hazel trailed off.

"Let's get back to Alexander," Magnus said, "I'm afraid I would bore you. I can't have your friends falling asleep," Magnus said, motioning to Percy and Leo who had grown very quiet in the exchange.

"I'm not bored," Hazel said, "This is important."

"I disagree," Magnus said, "Nothing about me is important to this, everything here is about him and saving him."

"How are you so faithful to this?" Hazel asked, "I thought demons were chaotic and sadistic."

Magnus got up abruptly, gave her a long, stern look but said, "Demons are," he said, "Now, I think contacting his family and your oracle on what the Lilith they were thinking in bringing these worlds together is painfully long overdue."

Tracing a glowing hand through the air and creating a floating screen, Magnus mustered a communication spell efficient enough for this level of situation. In his other hand, he typed on his phone. Everyone in the cabin could hear it ring on the other line as he flipped it onto speaker.

Being a Nephilim wasn't like demigod lifestyle (which rarely lead to the same parents for each sibling, and rarely did siblings happen at all). As she realized this, Hazel said, "Alec has a family?"

"He's the eldest of four," Magnus said, slicing the air with one last spell.

* * *

 **A/N: Calling Alec white as suds is a bit of a pun on the Subjective Units of Distress Scale. SUDS is also Sudden Unexplained Death Syndrome. The first one is a bit important to the story.**


End file.
